


What Hades Wants (Persephone Gets)

by Ceris_Malfoy



Series: Season One Alternates [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season 1, Alternate Universe, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Derek is a Failwolf, Dubious Consent, F/M, Peter is his own warning, Rating May Change, Steter Week, Steter Week 2.0, THIS WILL BE CONTINUED, Tags May Change, Werewolf Culture, alpha!peter hale, emotionally constipated assholes, eventually, except for Peter, no one uses their words, season 1 remix, steter week 2015, underage mating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 07:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4254678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceris_Malfoy/pseuds/Ceris_Malfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins in the school, late at night, a simple teenage girl shining a light on the monster she caught, curious and terrified. And were this a fairy tale, the light of the girl would wash away the monster’s wickedness, revealing the man beneath, and they would live happily ever after.</p><p>But this is not a fairy tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Hades Wants (Persephone Gets)

It begins in the school, late at night, a simple teenage girl shining a light on the monster she caught, curious and terrified. And were this a fairy tale, the light of the girl would wash away the monster’s wickedness, revealing the man beneath, and they would live happily ever after.

But this is not a fairy tale, not even one of the old ones, where wicked people do wicked things and sometimes do _not_ get redeemed, but are instead condemned to suffer as they caused others to suffer. This is not a fairy tale; the man can no more cease being a werewolf than the girl could stop being a girl. But that does not mean things did not change, because they did. In another world, the girl would shine her light and see nothing, would taunt the beast and rouse its anger to completely new levels.

In this world, the girl raises her light and sees, instead of nothing, two gleaming crimson eyes staring straight at her, a world of hate and fire reflected back at her through the mesh window. In this world, her breath would catch and no taunting words would escape her throat; her heart would speak instead for her, rabbit-quick and stuttering, fear and a strange sense of longing causing her fragile, mortal frame to shiver uncontrollably. To lock gazes with any supernatural being is no small thing, let alone the gaze of an _Alpha_.

In this world, the monster would slowly shift into a man, naked as the day he was born, scared horrifically by the hate and fire of mortals like the young girl who dared trap him, and he would grin, wide and wicked, feral and mad, burning crimson fading into fever-bright blue eyes. In this world, the man and the girl would stare at each other like this for a long time, one afraid and strangely wanting, the other angry and strangely drawn, both curious.

The girl will eventually retreat, unsure and ill at ease, a sickening clench growing in her stomach with every step she takes away. Part of her wants to open the door and release the monster she caught; most of her knows that way leads madness.

=

Stiles is a quick girl, a smart girl. Her mental capabilities, while not quite suited to the everyday academia of teenage life, are _perfectly_ suited to solving intricate puzzles and complex mysteries. Her dad has said more than once she has a detective’s brain, a real-life sort-of Sherlock Holmes, and often Stiles finds she’s come to the correct conclusion long before she can prove it. It is a frustrating gift, because often without proof, she is not allowed to act.

She trapped an alpha werewolf in a boiler room, watched him shift back into a man with horrifying burn scars, and so Stiles puts two and two together. The people dying are people implicated in either the Hale fire or the cover-up of the Hale fire, of which there are only three known survivors: Laura, Derek, and Peter Hale. Laura is dead, ripped in half. Derek is a beta.

Peter Hale, on the other hand, is a comatose patient in the long-term care-ward of the hospital. Logically, he should be removed from the equation altogether. But Stiles knows what she saw, and the scars covering the alpha’s body match the injuries recorded in her father’s case-file. Stiles spends long hours staring at her ceiling, wondering what she is going to do with that knowledge. She can’t trust Derek or Scott to come to the correct conclusion on their own in time to do anything about it; and god forbid her dad be the one to confront the alpha. Peter Hale is not sane; she knows that instinctively, just as she knows that Peter Hale will not stop until he’s _made_ to stop.

It’s that part that’s tying Stiles up in knots inside, because while a great part of her _wants_ to stop Peter and prevent more deaths, there’s an even greater part that thinks of what she knows of the fire, of the people who died, and wants nothing more than for Peter to _win_. That part of her is the same part that locked gazes with an alpha werewolf and lingered, itching to open the door and let nature take its course. It’s that part of her that Stiles finds herself both captivated and frightened of, because before Peter, she’s never once seriously considered standing aside while bad people did bad things, even if those bad things were to other, even worse people.

Peter Hale scares her, intrigues her; something about the man calls to something deep in Stiles, fills her with a longing she doesn’t understand and a need she has no idea how to fill.

=

“You risk much, coming here,” Peter says, voice soft so as not to gain the attention of the nurses that pass by, but his gaze is focused, intense.

Stiles loses herself in that gaze for a long moment, unable and unwilling to break it. Peter’s eyes are damnably pretty, even with the scars that twist the side of his face into something nightmares are made of. She’s not sure how anyone could look at Peter and see a catatonic man, because even still and silent, the man’s presence is like a wild thing, powerful and heady and so damn _feral_ ; the monster within barely leashed, barely contained. Peter’s eyes are what truly gives his awareness away though: they are bright and avid, watching the world as it passes him by with an uncanny intelligence that even now makes Stiles want to squirm in her seat on his bed as that assessing gaze is focused on her. “Why?” she finally asks.

The man says nothing, merely quirks an eyebrow in question, and Stiles fists the thin blanket in her hands to stop herself from fidgeting. She’s so nervous, so excited; she doesn’t know _what_ she’s doing or even _why_ right now, but she can’t fight the pull she feels either. She hopes that this meeting will harden her resolve – one way or another.

“Why are you doing all this? Why not just kill whoever and be done with it? Why drag Scott into it? Why try and kill us?” Stiles unloads in one quick breath before she forcibly clamps her mouth shut. She has so many more questions, but she needs to give Peter the chance to answer them, if the man will at all. Stiles isn’t taking nearly as big a risk as Peter may seem to think: for some reason, Peter is lying low, is taking his time with his vengeance, and he won’t risk everything to murder a sixteen-year-old girl.

Or so Stiles hopes.

Peter’s lips quirk in a strange semblance of a grin, only there’s nothing like amusement in his face. “I need a pack, and Scott…. Scott was … _convenient_ ,” the man drawls, something predatory lingering in the gleam of his white teeth and quirked mouth. “It could have just as easily been _you_.”

Her breath catches in her throat as she stills, even her heartbeat pausing for a long, terrifying moment.

“Oh yes,” Peter purrs, leaning forward, nose flaring as the man scents the air, scents _Stiles_. “The second you darted off from your friend, racing like a wild thing in _my_ woods, laughing and grinning, heartbeat echoing loud and clear in my ears, I _almost_ had you.”

Stiles can’t move, can’t speak, can only stare in fascination at the _Alpha_ leaning ever closer to her. She is mesmerized, hypnotized; lulled by Peter’s soft voice, and captivated by blue eyes as they begin to burn bright crimson.

He braces himself on the bed, hands a hair’s breadth from touching her thighs, as he leans in even closer, face mere inches from hers. She can feel the warm ghost of his breath on her lips, can see nothing but the hell-fire and fury of his eyes. She breathes him in, and unconsciously leans just a little bit closer to him, almost close enough to _kiss_. Her heartbeat accelerates at the thought, and she can’t help licking her lips, an old nervous twitch.

“I almost had you then, but your father caught you first,” he says, whisper soft. “It’s probably for the best.”

She swallows, eyes wide. “Why?”

She is fascinated by the wrinkles that crease the corners of his eyes as he smiles. “Because, Lykaios Stilinski, I would hate for your first _bite_ to have been so _unnecessarily_ violent,” he says, right before he kisses her.

It is not a gentle kiss. It is fierce and ferocious, teeth and tongue claiming her mouth with a vicious hunger she helpless but to give in to, allowing him to do as he wills. He leans forward even more, sliding his hands up the bed, using his upper-body to push her down and back without breaking his kiss. He moves between her legs as she unintentionally opens them, pressing against her fully, letting her feel a teasing hint of his half-hard erection.

And then she’s blinking at his ceiling dazedly, as Peter is mysteriously perched in his chair exactly as he had been earlier, stoic and bland and not a single hair out of place as a nurse passes by.

(She doesn’t know what she looks like to Peter, sprawled on his bed: flushed and panting, legs spread wide, nipples taut and teasing beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, lips swollen and pupils dilated. She smells of arousal and fear in equal measure, and layered just underneath, she smells like _him_. Peter can’t wait for his little game to be over, because when it ends, when he’s _won_ , he knows just what prize he is going to claim.)

=

Stiles makes it as far as putting her key into the ignition before she burst into tears. She doesn’t know what to do, who to turn to. She has made a target of herself, has brought her vulnerable, human self into Peter Hale’s direct attention, and she knows that is a deadly place to be. Everyone who has held Peter Hale’s attention so far has either been turned or killed, and while she fears one, she dreads the other.

And to confound it all, her body is _still_ throbbing eagerly, so damn hungry for the return of Peter’s heat, for the echoing hunger with which she _knows_ he will take her. She can’t stop trembling, half in eagerness for such a thing to happen, and half in fear. If Peter claims her, she’s not so stupid as to believe that he’ll ever let her go – and she is not so naïve as to believe that he won’t do everything in his power to keep her.

She is so conflicted.

On one hand, a man who was wronged so badly, who has suffered so much, that all he has left is his hatred and his need for revenge – and this man is not sane, is not rational, is little more than a feral animal with human intelligence. This man is a nightmare given form and intent, and he will rip and tear the world apart to meet his goals and ideals.

On the other, he wants _her_. He knows her name, her _real_ name, a name she has not heard pass another’s lips since the day her mother died. In order to know that name, he would have had to have researched her, find a record of her birth certificate or her driver’s license, and that would take dedication and time that could have otherwise been spent tracking down the next of his victims. And the way he looked at her, focused and intent…. No one has ever wanted her, not like that. No one has ever watched her with such intensity, no one has ever kissed her with actual intent, and no one has ever wanted to keep her all for themselves.

And there is also the pull she feels, that she has always felt, when it comes to him. She is honestly terrified of him and what he is capable of, but still she is drawn to him, helpless and wanting.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t understand the duality of what she is feeling, and is completely unprepared to deal with this complication on top of the whole Argent-Hale war she’s stumbled right into the center of.

So she sits in her jeep and bawls like a toddler, trembling and shaking, wanting someone to hold her and soothe her and tell her what she should do. She wants her mother. Her mother would know what to do. Her mother would be able to give her sound advice, would be able to tell her whether or not she should run as far away from Peter Hale as she possibly could, or if she should embrace the man to her just as savagely, just as hungrily.

Because that’s what truly is scaring her about this entire situation: she _wants_ it. She _wants_ him to claim her, _wants_ him to ruin her for anyone else, _wants_ him to _win_.

=

Stiles stays quiet about the revelation that Peter is the alpha.

Again, she has no idea what Derek would do, if he could do anything, and Scott’s already leery enough about Derek. If she tells Scott that it is Derek’s uncle running around slaughtering people, trying to get Scott to kill them, Scott would automatically assume Derek was in on it. And Scott, as much as she loves him, is a freaking _disaster_ of a werewolf. If he pushes Derek away, Scott will have no real guide to what he’s doing or how to control himself, and that leaves Stiles with a homicidal werewolf.

So she stays quiet. Provides Derek a place to stay while he’s on the run, keeps her head down, doesn’t antagonize people the way she usually does.

She spends most of her time thinking about Peter, and the eventual choice she is going to have to make, and whether or not she will be strong enough to deal with the consequences of whatever that choice may be. Derek watches her with suspicious eyes, nostrils flaring every now and then, and she wonders if he can smell his uncle on her, if he can feel the alpha’s claim burning on her skin.

If he does, he never says.

(Derek’s not an idiot. He’s known for quite a while now that there is a possibility that it’s his uncle running around killing people. The part that’s holding him back from finding out for sure is the simple fact that, except for Scott, no innocents have actually been hurt. He’s never been able to do it himself, but he’s always wanted to see everyone involved with the death of his family slaughtered like the sick fucks they were. Wolf justice is hardly pleasant, hardly ever clean, but so far, his uncle (if it is him) has managed to contain himself well.

It’s the scent clinging to Stiles that confirms it for him though. But more than the scent, it’s the way the girl stares for hours at a time at her ceiling, contemplating something very heavy if the way her scent shifts with conflicting emotions. She’s never aware of doing it, but Derek catches her tracing her lips and blushing every now and then, the faintest scents of arousal and fear clouding the air.

His uncle is the alpha. His uncle has – at best – kissed an under-aged girl. His uncle has scented her, marking her thoroughly enough that even McCall, as clueless as he is, has given the girl a wide berth.

And Derek doesn’t know what to do with that, so let’s it rest.)

**Author's Note:**

> So, some of you may have seen a part of this as a teaser on my tumblr. I've been having a tough time of things in RL, so I really haven't had time to write, but hopefully I'll get back to this before too much longer. Until then, I sincerely apologize to those who are waiting so freaking patiently for me to answer a prompt and/or continue one of my chapter fics. Believe me, I will never abandon them, even if it takes me a while to get to them.


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